Favors
by onemidnightgone
Summary: Nine times out of ten, Ladd meant well in trying to comfort his sister, and sometimes he succeeded. But usually, it was much more likely that he would inadvertently traumatize her or bring up bad memories. TW: A wee bit of gore in chapter 2. Regular warnings for 1930s-typical sexism, gender roles, and heteronormativity throughout.
1. Unus

**Author's Notes:**

So, at first, I headcanoned Ladd as being an only child because he's such an asshole (Hey, I can say it—I'm an only child, too!), but this idea popped into my head about him having sisters and killing all their ex-boyfriends despite their wishes. Because of this all of their suitors are scared shitless of him, leading all of the Russo sisters to become old maids (which was the worst possible thing a woman could be in the 1930s! Gasp!). And I know that Ladd prefers to kill people that aren't expecting death, but God, this idea of him killing the guys who break his sisters' hearts would. not. leave. me.

I decided to give Ladd only one sister for this fic for the sake of simplicity. Imagine the terror he'd wreak if he had several!

I've only read the first four light novels and am making my way through #5, so I double-checked the _Baccano!_ Wiki to see if the names of Ladd's parents and possible siblings have been revealed, but alas there was nothing! Despite this, some things may not fall in line with canon (eg. any reference to Layla).

I chose the name Alma while researching baby names that were popular in 1909. I thought it was very pretty, but simple, plus I don't really think Ladd's parents would give any of their other kids super extravagant names.

And naturally, I don't own _Baccano!_ and am not making a penny off of this little story.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Alma Russo unlocked the front door to her childhood home, picked up the two grocery bags she'd originally placed on the front porch, and went inside. _Just five more months of being the den mother of this overgrown Boy Scout troop._ she thought as she made her way to the kitchen.

After her father died five years prior, her older brother moved into the master bedroom and allowed three of his good friends to move into the spare bedrooms (and in one case, the basement) of the house. The family's home was a lovely Victorian 4-bedroom set-up in an upper-middle class suburb of Chicago. Her father, being involved in the mafia, wanted to ensure that his wife and children were safe and away from the hustle and bustle of the city proper, which was notorious for being riddled with violent crime.

And though downtown Chicago was a brief ride on the "L" away, if they weren't working or wreaking havoc in the streets of the big city, Alma's brother and his friends spent quite a bit of their free time at home. It was almost like a fraternity at times with four men ranging in age from 23 to 26 hootin' and hollerin' at all hours of the evening, playing drinking games with bathtub hooch they acquired from a bootlegger, not cleaning up after themselves, and forgetting to put the toilet seat down.

On one or two occasions, one of the guys would find a nice girl and decide it was time for him to grow up and marry her, so he would move out. But, his spot would be refilled by another one of her brother's bachelor pals within a month and it was almost as though nothing had changed.

Being the only permanent female resident in the household (a girlfriend of one of the guys would sometimes stay for a few days at a time, and on more than one occasion, Alma sat and ate breakfast at the kitchen table with one of her housemate's one-night stands), she was the one that did the vast majority of the cooking and cleaning. Many times she felt less like "Ladd's kid sister" and more like their mother despite the fact that she was actually the youngest person in the house.

Soon enough, however, Alma wouldn't have to worry about performing the motherly duties of four men who were all able-bodied adults, but somehow all behaved like 12-year-old boys when they were under one roof. She looked at the bright side of it all though, this entire experience would be good practice for when she and Sal had children.

She was getting married in five months to her first love, Salvatore d'Angelo. People said they were a cute couple—"Al & Sal" they'd joke. She was absolutely smitten with him and couldn't wait for her fairy tale wedding, honeymoon in Niagara, and the hope that they'd be able to start a family shortly afterward.

The only thing that really upset her was that neither her father nor her mother, who died when she was still a child, would be able to see their little girl all grown up on her wedding day, which back then was considered the most important day of a woman's life, nor would they be there for their grandchildren.

Antonio "Tony" Russo, the youngest son of the Russo family don Placido Russo, Sr., was well known for his rebellious streak. He fell quite hard for one Miss Vivian Ladd, but his family didn't exactly welcome her with open arms. She wasn't of Italian descent, and although times were changing and people were beginning to marry those of other cultural backgrounds, the Russo family was a little more old-fashioned in that regard. Bring home a nice Italian girl or don't bring home a girl at all.

More controversy arose when the two eloped in 1906, reason being that she was pregnant. To top it all off, Tony's entire family found it very gauche that the two gave their baby boy his mother's maiden name as his first name. When Vivian gave birth to a daughter in 1909, the family breathed a sigh of relief that they at least named the baby girl something more dignified—Alma.

In comparison to their cousins on their father's side of the family, Ladd and Alma stuck out like sore thumbs. Whereas the vast majority of Russos had your standard medium-to-dark hair, brown or hazel eyes, and olive complexions typical of those of Sicilian descent, the two siblings inherited the Anglo-Saxon traits of their mother: sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

It really didn't help later on in life when Ladd "went insane" as many in the family put it following the murder of his beloved Layla, nor when Alma matured into the spitting image of her mother. Ladd at least got a good mix of Tony and Viv's genes—he had his father's facial features and hair texture, and tanned well, but was built more like the men on his mother's side of the family and had the same coloring as many of them, too.

But, very little was "Russo" about Alma appearance-wise. She instead resembled the English-Scottish-Irish mutt of a woman who was perceived to have tainted the family bloodline. They were the black sheep of the family through practically no trying of their own.

Another strike against her was the legacy that any older sibling leaves when their younger sibling comes into the fold: people assume that the younger will be just like the elder. This wasn't necessarily the case with Alma. "Polar opposites" is too drastic of a term to describe them, but if people were expecting Alma to be just like her older brother, they were in for a rude (or, perhaps in this case, it would be pleasant?) awakening.

Whereas Ladd had always been gregarious, talkative, and somewhat cocky, Alma was a little more reserved and not nearly as willing to strike up random conversations with strangers. Certainly not a shrinking violet, but still a bit of a wallflower.

Did Alma love her brother? That was difficult to say. They got along just fine as children, though there were some occasional rough patches. As a boy, Ladd's interests were quite typical; he loved to roughhouse and go to the Friday night fights with his father.

When he was seven, his parents signed him up for boxing lessons shortly after he decided he wanted practice the prizefighting moves he saw at those matches on his little sister. Better he take his aggression out on a punching bag as opposed to her. He thought he was being affectionate, thinking she'd put her dukes up and fight back, but it hadn't quite registered in his young mind that this was not how little girls usually socialize.

Was she afraid of him? Not necessarily. It was more the _things_ he did and said rather than his very being that scared her. He always told her not to worry, that he wouldn't let anyone harm her, that she ranked very low on his hit list ("When I kill everyone in the world, you'll probably be something like the next-to-last person. Definitely one of the last three, for sure." Alma took comfort in trying to convince herself that he was completely joking when he went on his 'I'm gonna kill everyone!' tirade).

If Alma had to guess, she'd say that her brother cared deeply for her in his own strange way, but as the two became older, she found very little common ground with him. His recent behavior didn't help out either, which was part of the reason why Alma had developed an interest in psychology, checking out all different sorts of books about it from the library.

From what she'd read, she inferred that it was very possible that Ladd could be suffering from some sort of psychosis, but she decided that it wasn't her place to try and diagnose him with something. Suggesting he seek help would only make him defensive and possibly belligerent towards her; mental health was such a taboo subject at the time.

Because of all this, she found herself spending less and less time at the house whenever possible. Whether it was a Tuesday game of bridge with some of her old girlfriends from her school days or a date with Sal to see the newest Greta Garbo flick at the picture house, she made it a point to keep all the madness at bay.

But getting out of the house in the evenings was becoming a little more difficult for Alma in the past few months or so. Sal claimed last month that things were really hectic at work, and then earlier this month he told her that he wasn't feeling well (and made it a point that she not come over and try to nurse him back to health, lest she come down with what he had).

He'd always tell her that he'd make it up to her very soon, but when "very soon" came, Alma could see that clearly something was wrong, but he would just brush it off and say, "Oh, it's nothing." His behavior was quite odd, but she decided not to jump to conclusions. Regardless of all of this, she decided that she'd call up Sal and invite him over for dinner after she'd checked the mail.

Once Alma had put away all the groceries, she went back to the front door to do just that. Their mailbox was just to the left of the door, right on the house itself. When she opened the lid, one single envelope was inside. Upon further inspection, she noticed that the envelope didn't have a stamp or any addresses on it. It only had one word, written in a very neat hand: 'Alma'.

She recognized that handwriting as being Sal's, which then made her a little bit nervous. Once she started thinking about it, everything started making sense. The working overtime. The illness. The strange behavior. Was there a dark secret he was keeping from her? Alma hoped for the best but expected the absolute worst as she opened the envelope. After stepping back inside, she began reading.

 _My Dearest Alma,_

 _It is with a heavy heart that I write you this letter. What I am about to tell you will be sure to cause you much grief, but I will not be able to rest easily until I have come clean to you about it._

 _I have done some unforgiveable things over the past few months that lead me to believe that you would no longer find me a suitable husband, father to your children, and most importantly, a life partner._

 _Just over three months ago, I met another woman and began a dalliance with her. Being the immature, selfish, and impatient fool that I am, I went into it because she fulfilled my desires in a way that you currently are unable to. Doing this was very disrespectful to you, and words cannot accurately express how sorry I am to hurt you like this._

 _Then, as luck would have it, she is now with child. My child. This is when I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. And while a child is most certainly something to celebrate, I saw it more as a punishment for not being faithful to you._

 _Lastly, and this is the most difficult part for me to admit: considering my new circumstances, I have decided that the best decision for me would be to elope with her. It only seems right with a baby on the way. It should know its father. There's no easy way for me to say this, but the engagement between you and I has to be called off._

 _Trust me, this was the most difficult decision I've ever faced in my entire life. By the time you've received this letter, we've already skipped town. I didn't want to have to tell you all of this in person because I knew how upset it would make you. Plus, I'm worried that your brother would try to interfere and possibly go after me._

 _Once again, I am so terribly sorry for all of the pain I may have—no—definitely have caused you. You really are one amazing doll, and I think any man would be incredibly lucky to have you for a wife._

 _Everything I've written above is the truth and you deserve to know it. You also deserve so much better than me._

 _Regards,_

 _Sal_

The entire world stopped for Alma. She realized that she was leaning against the door to steady herself—when had she done that? She heard a sound, the paper being shook back and forth by her hands. Her arms and legs couldn't stop shaking. And she felt numb—so extremely numb. Any other woman in this circumstance would have begun sobbing, but Alma didn't. Alma couldn't.

She tried to read through the letter again to ensure that this was all really happening, but couldn't focus on it. Instead, certain words stood out to her, 'unforgiveable things', 'suitable husband… life partner', 'another woman', 'she fulfilled my desires… you currently are unable to', 'with child', 'punishment for not being faithful', 'the engagement … called off'.

A strangling feeling presented itself in her throat. She tried to focus on something—anything—that wasn't the letter, but it was of no use. Her vision went blurred and found herself extremely lightheaded with the overwhelming need to lie down. She closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them, she couldn't see anything - had she even opened them at all? Little pockets of vision returned to her, but they never stayed in the same place for long. The last thing she remembered was taking two steps forward before complete darkness had consumed her memory.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Thanks for reading the first chapter!

I could literally fill up an entire chapter of just author's notes about my characterization decisions (I've really cut down on my Author's Notes from my previous drafts). For instance, I'm very much aware that those of pure Italian descent can, in fact, have blonde hair and blue eyes. I just thought that both Ladd and Alma looking starkly different from their other relatives would be—I dunno. Symbolic?

In addition to this, I put Ladd's birth year as being 1906, reason being that in (I think it's) the third light novel, he says that he turned 25 "this year" as in 1931.

I feel like how I described Alma cooking and cleaning and thinking about marriage and kids makes her sound a bit like a Mary Sue, but I think she's more a product of her time than anything. Women still very much had their place in the home back then, so it's a bit difficult to make her a "strong independent female character" when she lives during a time period where women were expected to be perfect and pleasant at all times. At least she's not a pink-and-purple-haired telekinetic wunderkind that everyone has a crush on, right (lol, someone triple-dog dare me to write **that** version of this story :D)?

I also took some historic liberties with Alma's thought about living with a bunch of overgrown Boy Scouts. Den mothers weren't officially integrated into the Boy Scouts of America until 1932. I originally had wanted to put " _Just five more months of living with this overgrown Boy Scout jamboree._ " but come to find that the first jamboree didn't occur until 1937! Super duper anal, I know, but I had to be sure. And this is also the extent of my knowledge of all things pertaining to the Boy Scouts.


	2. Duo

**Author's Notes:**

TW for a wee bit of gore in this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"Hey Al, are you gonna get dinner ready soon? Me, Lua, and the guys are starving."

Upon hearing the door handle turn and her brother's voice quickly following (he never had the propriety to knock), Alma awoke with a start. She was in her bedroom, lying down on the bed, remembering the severe need to lie down upon reading Sal's letter, but she couldn't for the life of her remember taking the short trek from the foyer, up the stairs, and to her bedroom, nor did she remember falling asleep.

An expression of concern appeared on Ladd's face, "Christ, what happened to you? You look like a Halloween decoration with all that black makeup running down your cheeks."

She had no idea what he was referring to, but sat up a little bit and caught a glimpse of herself in her vanity mirror. Underneath her eyes, all the way down her cheeks, and even some streaking down past her jaw line, were heavy mascara-tinged tearstains. She had cried in her sleep. She _never_ cried. She was a Russo. And though she may not have looked like your typical Russo woman, she was tough as nails just like the rest of them. They were known throughout the entire Chicagoland area as a group of broads you shouldn't mess with.

As he sat on the edge of her bed, Ladd handed her his handkerchief, which she took hesitantly. As she looked back in the mirror to clean up her tears, Ladd implored, "What's got you blue, baby sister? Do you feel so completely hopeless and that life isn't worth living? Do you want to end it all right now? Because, I can help you out with that." He'd already pulled out his pistol from inside of his jacket and pointed it at her head by the time he finished speaking.

At this point, Ladd had pulled this trick with Alma so many times that she had stopped flinching whenever he did it. She returned his handkerchief "That joke wasn't funny the first time."

But Ladd certainly still thought it was, and he laughed as he put the gun back in his jacket holster. "You know I kid, Alma. You'd have to do something really terrible for me to even consider killing you."

He held up the dirtied handkerchief, "Jeez, it looks like the Veil of Veronica." Alma hadn't noticed while she was drying her eyes, but the outline of her makeup and tears left two black crescents on the white cloth. Below that was the outline of her nostrils, a mix of saline and beige powder.

"Remember that, Al, from Catholic school? When we would do the Stations of the Cross every Lent?" He mused to himself, trying to remember his school days, "What happened after Veronica wiped Jesus' face? Did he fall the second time?"

Under any other circumstance, she would have said, "Yes, that's what happened next." but instead she said, her words biting, "Could you please leave me alone? I really don't feel well."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong. Something's the matter, I just know it." His eyes drifted from her face to her nightstand, where Sal's letter and envelope lay. "What's this?" he questioned as he walked over, and grabbed the letter.

Alma completely forgot that it was there, or rather, that she even put it there before she went to lie down.

Part of Alma wanted to say, "It's none of your business." but figured saying such a thing would only pique his curiosity even more. The only thing that she could bring herself to do was weep.

Ladd, now standing up, looked down at his younger sister, "Wow. There must be some really upsetting news on this piece of paper, if that's how you're reacting to me just picking it up."

He read out loud, much to Alma's chagrin, "My Dearest Alma, It is with a heavy heart that I write you this letter-"

"I've already read what it says, I don't need to hear those words out loud." Alma interrupted him, spitting the words viciously and unable to contain her anger, face flushed and wet.

He ignored her and continued, "What I am about to tell you will be sure to cause you much grief, but I will not be able to rest easily until I have come clean to you about it."

A sound of mixed distress and exasperation escaped Alma's lips as she melodramatically threw her upper body back down onto the bed, almost hitting her head on the wooden headboard in the process. Ladd took the hint, "Christ, okay, okay!"

He continued to read the rest of the letter to himself and would often interject out loud with some of his own commentary ("'Dalliance'?! Now there's a million-dollar word!"). He also found the part about him potentially going after Sal particularly funny.

The tears kept coming. She didn't gasp for air or contort her face like many people do when upset, the tears just rolled down her face as she stared at the ceiling, waiting in agony for her brother's final reaction to the letter.

Shortly after reading, " _Regards, Sal"_ Ladd cackled as though he'd just heard the funniest joke of all time. "That Salvatore d'Angelo is quite the Shakespeare, isn't he? If I hadn't known better, I'd assume he went to college. An English major at U of C or Northwestern or something, probably graduated magna cum laude."

Alma didn't look at her brother, but he continued rambling.

"I could strangle that sucker until his face turned blue. Romeo here probably wrote you some steamy love letters, too."

She could have answered in the affirmative, as Sal had indeed written her love letters with the same eloquence as the one Ladd held in his hand, and that there were even a few of her favorites by him in her nightstand drawer, including the one in which he first confessed his love to her. But Alma decided against this, lest he continue to pour salt into these fresh wounds by reading _those_ letters.

"And yet, where did that get him? God, Alma. I'm so sorry you have to deal with such foolishness. He really is a goddam fool. And you two were getting married in what—four, five months?"

Nine times out of ten, Ladd meant well in trying to comfort his sister, and sometimes he succeeded. But usually, it was much more likely that he would inadvertently traumatize her or bring up bad memories.

"Please get out of here, Ladd." Alma commanded, as she switched positions on the bed, facing away from him.

"You had your dress picked out and everything. Isn't it hanging in your wardrobe over there? Yeah, everything was set and ready to go."

He paused for a few seconds as he came over to the other side of the bed to look her straight in the face. He rarely ever shut up when he was manic.

"Allie," he said, calling her by her childhood nickname. That was the first time he'd done so in over a decade. "I was gonna walk you down the aisle."

"Keep telling yourself that." Alma muttered under her breath through gritted teeth. Ladd didn't seem to notice.

"And now he goes and does this. And we all thought that this guy was different. We thought that he was good for you, that he respected you. But, no. Nooooo, Shakespeare here could only think of S-E-X, so he listened to his you-know-what instead of his brain, and he got some floozy pregnant. He makes me _sick._ "

Alma chose to save herself for her wedding night, as it was what all the good Catholic girls did back then. But the kicker was that Sal actually _had_ been pressuring Alma into doing those sorts of things. Luckily, he hadn't tried to force himself on her, but every time they were alone, it was passionate kisses and "Please Alma, let me make love to you." followed by tons of sweet talk, attempting to coax her into doing what he wanted, "You look so beautiful tonight." "I love you so much, sweetheart." "We're getting married anyway, so what's the use in waiting?" And as much as she may have liked to give in to her carnal instincts, she refused every single time.

Ladd hadn't brought this up directly (and it was none of his business anyway. What Alma did behind closed doors was between her and her living God), but the fact that his statements reminded her of all of this—on top of everything else that he'd brought up beforehand—made her even more uncomfortable and distraught than she had already been.

"Everything you say only makes me feel even _worse_ , do you understand that?" Her words were like venom. She got off the bed and showed him to the door. "Now, if you would please leave me alone, and allow me to _collect myself_ for a few minutes, I'll _come_ downstairs and cook dinner. _Would that make you happy_?!" Alma shouted at him, tears still in her eyes. Though her and Ladd may have had dissimilar personalities, the two of them certainly shared the Russo temper.

"You two okay up here?" a third voice chimed in from the doorway. It was Dune, with a look of mixed concern and fear on his face. Concern for the shouting happening. Fear for the fact that it was Alma doing most of it. It was unladylike in those days for a doll to raise her voice in such a manner.

Simultaneously the siblings responded:

"This doesn't concern you, Dune. Get lost." (Alma)

"Holy hell, have I got a story for you and the guys." (Ladd)

"Just don't kill each other, okay? Sal would be pretty pissed if Alma was dead. Hey, Al, when are you guys getting married again?"

Again:

"Yeah, about that..." (Ladd, followed by laughter)

"Ladd, _don't."_ (Alma)

Dune raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the scene unfolding in front of him. "I'll leave you two to sort out your beef. You can tell me the story later." He went to go down the stairs, but turned back around, "Oh, speaking of beef… Al, what were you planning on making for dinner?"

Alma tried to respond, but Ladd interrupted her, "She's in no state to be cooking tonight. I think we should get takeout instead. We can pick it up after this gig I'm planning for us right now."

Alma's heart felt as though it was sinking towards her stomach and her eyes widened in fear. A gig. As in a murder. _As in Sal_.

When Dune made his way back to the first story of the house, Alma pleaded, "You wouldn't dare."

"But I would! What Salvatore d'Angelo did to you was unforgiveable. Your heart's been stepped on and broken into millions of teeny-tiny pieces. And I know exactly how that feels. My heart was broken once, too."

Alma rolled her eyes at this. Layla, Ladd's first fiancée, was killed in cold blood. This situation was much different.

"Something has to be done about it. Maybe I can have Shakespeare write his own eulogy. Promise him that we'll let him live if he writes one in 20 minutes. Of course, we'll just blast his brains out after the 20 minutes are up, anyway. No wait—I want to be the one kill him. It's only right. And I can read what he wrote out loud before we hand him over to the trout in Lake Michigan." He sighed, "What a pity. I'd always wanted a little brother, and I thought I was finally gonna get one with Sal. Hell, he even invited me to his bachelor party weekend down in French Lick! But, I guess the craps table will have to wait for some other day."

Ever since he began courting her, Sal wanted to ensure that he was always on Ladd's good side, lest he succumb to a multiple gunshot wounds at worst or a broken nose and black eye at best. Alma wasn't entirely sure what her brother was getting at by discussing his pending death in detail, but continued glaring at him.

"And he has such a gift. But you know what else he is besides a good writer? I'll tell you what—and I hate to use such profane language in front of a lady, but there's no better way I can describe him—he's a fucking coward."

"I swear if you lay a finger on him I'll—"

"What are you in the mood for? I haven't had Chinese in a while, want me to call up Golden Dragon, get some chop suey?- Actually no, Giuseppe's sounds better. I'll ask everyone downstairs what they think."

And with that, he was out the door and heading down the stairs. Alma chased after him, the tears were starting to well up again.

"Ladd, please don't."

Ladd had made his way to the living room where his buddies and Lua were seated, "Change of plans, we're getting takeout. Who's in the mood for Giuseppe's?"

They all murmured words of agreement, except for Lua, who seemed more interested in the fabric of her skirt.

"Great. We'll go over there after we take care of our dear friend Salvatore d'Angelo. You guys know him, right?"

"Alma's guy?" one of them responded.

"The very one. Except he's not her guy anymore. Couldn't keep it in his pants and ended up knocking up some broad. Now he's on the run. But ten bucks says he's still at home. Probably packing his suitcase for Florida as we speak. What do you fellas say we teach him a lesson? That lesson of course being: When you break Alma Russo's heart, Ladd Russo breaks in your face!"

His goons verbally conveyed their discontent with the situation as he talked, and by the time he'd finished, they were all quite excited about the gig and gathered their hats and overcoats as they headed for the door.

"Ladd, please don't hurt him, I'm begging you!" Alma's voice was shrill and she found it difficult to enunciate over the sound of her involuntary sobbing. At this point, she was inconsolable.

"Alma, you frighten me when you're like this." Ladd's tone was suddenly much more serious and full of concern. "This behavior is not very becoming of a lady such as yourself."

He turned to his fiancée, "Lua, my angel, please take good care of Alma while we're gone and make sure she doesn't hurt herself or do anything else crazy." Lua didn't nod or really do anything to show that she understood his command. She continued to sit there, staring at him.

"Trust me, Alma. It's for the best. You'll find yourself another boyfriend soon, and he's gonna be ten times better than that good-for-nothing d'Angelo." he called out to her as he gathered his coat, fedora, and ammo for his Tommy Gun from the foyer coat closet.

If only she knew what he had in mind specifically for Sal. Ladd's preferred method of killing was to leave so many bullet holes in his victim's body that their bloodied corpse would be completely unidentifiable. And while such a death was certainly something Sal deserved, Ladd had another idea in mind.

There was something really poetic about leaving only three bullet holes in this particular body—one in his leg to incapacitate him at first (that is, if his goons couldn't hold him down in the first place), one through his dick to completely emasculate the son-of-a-bitch, and finally, one bullet right through his heart so the last thing Salvatore d'Angelo would ever feel in his sad, sorry life was how Alma Russo felt in that very moment.

"Okay, fellas, let's roll out."

Alma ran back up the stairs in hysterics, finding it absolutely futile at this point to try and stop Ladd further, slamming the door behind her and throwing herself on the bed. She sobbed into her pillow, overcome with grief.

Within seconds, the slightly muffled shout from her brother echoed from the staircase, eerily reminiscent of their late father, " _Alma Renata Russo, don't you DARE slam doors in this household again, young lady_!"

A few seconds later, she could just hear the sound of the front door closing, followed by the engine of Ladd's Studebaker starting. Alma managed to look up from her pillow toward her bedroom window and saw the car pull out of the driveway and into the street, only making herself more upset.

Soon, the entire house was completely silent.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

French Lick is the honest-to-God-I-really-wish-I-was-making-this-up name of a resort town in southern Indiana that is known for its hot springs and casinos. Its casinos became really popular during the early 20th century and they even attracted big names of the day, including Al Capone.


	3. Tres

**Chapter 3**

"Alma?" Lua asked softly, knocking lightly on her bedroom door.

Ladd and the guys had only left a few minutes prior. When she pressed her ear against the door, she could hear Alma's muffled sobs and sniffles. After not hearing anything else, she slowly opened the door.

Alma was lying on her bed with her back facing the door, shaking as she wept. She craned her neck sensing someone's presence and saw her soon-to-be sister-in-law entering the room, to which she turned her head back to the more comfortable position it was in originally.

After Layla's death, Alma felt as though she had lost a sister herself. However, she didn't particularly like her brother's new fiancée that much; she found her to be very strange. The relationship her and Ladd had was absolutely bizarre and worrisome to anyone who didn't know either of them. Hell, it was bizarre and worrisome to people who _did_ know them. He would threaten to kill her one day, and this somehow put Lua into an almost euphoric trance.

She remembered one time when he told Lua that he would kill her so beautifully on their wedding night. As Alma was at the time planning a wedding herself (and during the Great Depression, no less), her first thought, besides how harmful these two were for each other, was, _What a waste of money. To go through all of that—the ceremony, reception, food, decorations, everything—and then be killed. And actually wanting to be killed. That's more than messed up._ Spending time as their third wheel ranked number one on the list of things Alma found extremely awkward and uncomfortable.

There was a silence that seemed to linger for quite some time, though in reality it may have only been a few seconds. Alma stared at the wall, choking back tears and sniffling. Lua stared at Alma unsure of what to say to her.

Comforting people and even showing sympathy for others were not Lua's strongest suits. She was often so consumed by her own feelings that it was extremely hard for Lua to experience any sort of empathy. She hadn't even developed a full opinion of Alma as a person because there were really only two things she cared about in the world: Ladd and death. Of course, Alma was an integral part of Ladd's life, but Lua was usually lost in her own little world of dark emotions to fully consider the potential friendship she could have had with her fiancé's sister.

Unsure of what she could do or say to Alma to make her feel better, she began to look around the room until her eyes landed on an old photograph on the dresser. She went over to it and examined it further.

As she did this, Alma heard her feet shuffling, wondering what the hell she was doing. She wondered why her brother couldn't find a more blessedly normal girl to marry. Then again, with everything considered, a normal girl would have more common sense than to allow Ladd Russo to pursue her.

"Is this you and your mother?" Alma lifted her head again to see what Lua was referring to, though she already knew. It was a picture she kept on her dresser of her and her mother when she was four years old. Very rigid and formal, typical of the era, with Vivian seated in a chair and Alma standing stick straight next to her, serious looks on their faces.

Alma nodded as if to say, "yes." Lua examined the photo further. "She was very beautiful." She paused to compare and contrast the present-day Alma to both the Alma in the photograph and also to Vivian Russo. After a silence, she said, "You really take after her."

Her eyes met Lua's briefly. Alma's lips said, "Thanks." but her brain thought, _Jesus Christ, she is so weird._ Lua continued to look at the photo for a few more seconds before placing it back where it belonged.

"How did she die?" Lua asked.

Alma's lips: "Spanish flu. I was nine years old."

Alma's brain: _Wow, you certainly know how to comfort a person in their time of need._

Lua hummed her understanding, then Alma felt the bed dip at her feet and heard the rustling of papers. She guessed correctly that Lua had sat there and began reading Sal's letter. Alma hadn't touched it—had Ladd left it there? Everything was quiet for about a minute or so, until Lua finished the letter and spoke up.

"I would be completely devastated if Ladd left me."

"What do you even see in him?" Alma shot back at her almost immediately.

Lua looked back at Alma, who was still looking at the wall and had stopped shaking. Her eyes darted to Lua for a second or two, then back to the wall. It took Lua several moments to properly formulate an answer to that question. She was very much in love with him, that was for sure, but she wasn't expecting that response.

"He means well." Lua declared. Alma had no response to this, still turned on her right side. Lua was at a complete loss for what to do next, so she settled for rubbing Alma's left arm reassuringly for a few seconds before leaving the room altogether, without saying anything else. Alma listened as her footsteps creaked down the staircase. A minute or so later, the living room radio clicked on and Alma could recognize Maurice Chevalier's thick French accent singing:

 _When I'm stepping out_

 _With my runabout_

 _How we step is a crime!_

 _Starting in the moonlight_

 _Ending in the sunlight_

 _Having a marvelous time!_

Alma scoffed at how those lyrics seemed to fit her current situation in both a strangely coincidental and ironic way.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

The song by Maurice Chevalier is "Living in the Sunlight, Loving in the Moonlight" which most of you are probably more familiar with the version sung by Tiny Tim. The version by Chevalier is the original. It's much slower and subdued, yet still quite cheery, and it's from 1930 to boot, so naturally it fits with the time period.


	4. Quattuor

**Chapter 4**

It had been more than five hours since Ladd and his gang had left the house. Alma's mind was a total blank nearing midnight. At this point, she felt as though she had accepted Sal's fate for what it was, and that the entire thing was not within her control, but at the same time she felt numb again and at a loss for what to do. She'd been staring at the ceiling for the greater part of those five hours, unable to fall asleep.

It was at some point during those five hours that Alma remembered she was still wearing her engagement ring. Sal had proposed to her before the stock market crash, so her ring was a little more extravagant than most of the rings the jewelers were featuring on display in their windows. She took it off and put it in her nightstand drawer, wondering whether she should keep it because of its value or to sell it to a pawnshop. Some fellow would make his girlfriend very happy with that ring, provided he didn't cheat on her, as well.

The sound of her door opening without a knock beforehand broke her out of her reverie.

"It's done."

Alma had been expecting this response, so she just sat up in bed, not even bothering to look at her brother.

"Yes, at approximately 8:04 this evening Salvatore d'Angelo met his maker. It was absolutely beautiful—I wish you could have seen it! He hadn't even left his house yet. And I was right—he was still packing his suitcase when we showed up. What a shame—we lost someone who could have written the next great American novel. And I'm sure he was really looking forward to Florida. I would be, too. A bunch of us ought to go down there sometime. I bet the beaches there are ten times better than the ones on Lake Michigan anyway. Water's gotta be much warmer, too. But offing Sal was for the best. That's what happens when you get on a Russo's bad side."

Alma was mostly relieved that he left out the gory details, but really hated when he went off on tangents. Who had even said anything at all about Florida in the first place?

"The least you could do is thank me, Alma."

Alma wanted to cry, but felt as though she had cried all the tears in her system already. It was too exhausting.

She sucked in a deep breath and spoke, "Say I get a new boyfriend and he breaks up with me. Are you going to do the exact same thing to him that you did to Sal tonight? If you keep this up, I'll end up an old maid and it'll be all your fault."

"That's a trick question, Alma!" Ladd sat on her bed. "When the right guy for you comes along, he's gonna treat you like a princess and I'm not going to have to kill him. And if you become an old maid, there's no shame in that. Cats are much more trustworthy than humans, anyway."

Alma crossed her arms and looked away from him.

"For chrissakes, Alma. I already gave you the 'he was no good for you and you can do so much better' speech." Ladd pulled her out of bed. "Come downstairs for dinner and grace the rest of us with your presence. I guess we're eating dinner at midnight like the Spaniards do! Maybe I'll start taking a siestain the middle of my day, just like they do. No, actually, that wouldn't be a good idea after all. People would find out and they'd know that the best time to catch me off guard was after lunch time."

His tangents again.

"I went to Giuseppe's like I said I would. Don't you just love joints that are open 24 hours? I could eat an entire pizza at 3 in the morning if I wanted to! I even bought cannolis! Remember when we were kids and Nonna would pick up cannolis from the bakery for us and we'd eat them at the kitchen table? C'mon. Let's do it again for old time's sake."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're not hungry? People are starving in the street, there are lines around the block just to get a bowl of soup, while you live a pretty comfortable life where you don't have to worry about getting a factory job or where your next meal is coming from, and you tell me you're not hungry?"

"Ladd, I've been through a lot today, so please just leave me be for now."

"Suit yourself. I'm gonna eat your cannoli, though. I hope you don't mind."

Alma retreated back to the bed, but this time, sat upright with her head against the backboard. She closed her eyes trying to cry, wanting to cry, but completely unable to.

Within several minutes, Ladd had returned with a tray of food. He originally set it on her dresser, then cleared some space in front of her vanity and set it there.

"So, I know you said you weren't hungry, but just in case you change your mind, I brought you up a little bit of everything. We've got eggplant parm, chicken Marsala, gnocchi—some stuffed shells because Dune said he was jonesing for some, and—I decided not to eat your cannoli, so that's here. It might be a little weird eating in front of a mirror, but it'll do for now. And there's one more thing."

He rushed back downstairs, while Alma just sat on her bed confused. She noticed an empty wine glass on the tray. _Oh, no._ She thought.

Just as she feared, he came back upstairs with a corkscrew and a bottle of Chianti.

"We managed to get three bottles of this stuff." He told her as he opened the bottle "Two of them are for us downstairs to have with dinner, but this one is all yours."

He then poured far too much wine into the glass, practically filling it to the top and handed it to Alma. After placing the bottle on her nightstand he told her, "You deserve it after the crappy day you've had. Now, don't wait too long or the food'll get cold."

Alma was so bewildered by the kind gesture. "Um… thanks." she replied right before she took a sip of wine, more out of fear that the red would stain her bed sheets than anything. Ladd kept talking.

"You are _very_ welcome. Hey, the next time we're both up in the middle of the night, what do you say we go to Giuseppe's and get ourselves a giant pizza?"

Alma knitted her brow a little bit as she said, "Okay." She then made a mental note to not leave her room if she were ever to wake up during the wee hours of the morning.

"Tomorrow is a new day, Allie." he reassured her. "Goodnight."

He left the room and, for once, closed the door behind him.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Thank you so much for reading my entire story!

I've been writing fan fiction on and off since I was in middle school but was always way too embarrassed to post anything online, because I didn't want my work ripped to shreds by disgruntled reviewers. I have like… 10 fanfics on my old laptops that I wrote because I needed to get them out of my system, but still haven't posted or even shared them with anyone.

But this is probably the first thing I've ever written for pleasure that I'm sort of proud of (but believe me when I say I'm still a bit embarrassed by it). It's also my first _Baccano!_ fanfic! I don't really write that often, only when I've got a great idea (or at least what I consider a great idea). If you enjoyed the story, I hope to be inspired again soon so that I can share more stories with you!


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